


Ashes and Apples

by hearts_blood



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Canon Bisexual Character, F/F, Female Relationships, Flirting, Homesickness, In-Jokes, Loneliness, Movie Night, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:46:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/pseuds/hearts_blood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Helena watches movies with Myka and wonders about her new place in her old home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ashes and Apples

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sunshine Queen. Prompt: "Kiss: HG/Myka, 'between'." Season 2ish? I don't remember why I picked this title. Oh well.

Myka couldn't help cringing as she perched on the end of her neatly-made bed. "Are you sure you want to watch this?" she asked for the fifth time. "I didn't even think you liked Jules Verne."

"Oh no, I've always adored Jules Verne's works," said HG, who was at that moment engrossed in putting the remote to Myka's DVD player back together. "I used to read his books all the time when I was a little girl." Her efficient hands paused in their work, and for a moment or two her eyes were very far away. "Once, my brother Charles was bedridden with a broken leg, and I used to spend hours reading aloud to him."

"You... must've been close," Myka ventured. 

"At certain times of our lives, yes." HG grinned, a rather mischievous expression that Myka liked to see on her face. "My colleagues at Warehouse 12 thought Charles something of an idiot. Which I suppose he was, after a fashion. Mine was the scientific mind; Charles had a turn for advancements of a more radical sort."

"I know the books that came after you were bronzed were less science fiction and more social fiction," Myka said, twisting a blue afghan around her denim-clad legs. 

"Why, Myka, darling," HG smiled, "are you a fan?"

A very silly grin, and a very silly blush, tugged at Myka's lips. "I used to read all the time when I was a kid, too. I grew up in a bookstore."

"Oh, you lucky girl." HG's hands clicked the last piece of the remote back into place. "Fascinating piece of work, this. Though rather inelegant. Everything nowadays is so simplistic, so very functional. There's no craftsmanship. My inventions were always beautiful as well as practical."

"Hmm, no wonder I was coveting your grappler."

HG responded with the kind of smile that knew all and told nothing. "As I said, I adored Verne's work—it was he who disliked my work. He thought I was making it all up. Didn't think I was taking futurism seriously or putting in the requisite research to get away with writing about time travel or sending men into space."

"Or turning men invisible. Or turning animals into men."

"I had the research. I had the proof. But my duty was... is... to the Warehouse." She turned the black plastic remote over and over in her hands. "So most of it remains hidden to this day. I'd hoped to change the world with my research, Myka. Make it better. But the world has passed me by." HG cleared her throat abruptly. "Is the disc in?"

"Yeah, but..." Myka ran through the old Disney movie in her mind again. Nope, the ending was still the same. Giant octopus. "Um, haven't we seen enough scifi movies this weekend?"

"After the barrage of bright screaming motion pictures that Pete and Claudia subjected me to—half of them completely incomprehensible to me—"

"Pete did get you to admit that you enjoyed _Star Wars_."

"Well... it was stupid, but the story was at least recognizable and the... special effects? Yes, the special effects were very clever and didn't hurt my eyes. And then the plethora of so-called 'adaptations' of my work that you insisted on—"

"Excuse me? You _asked_ to see them!"

"—All of which did nothing but give me massive headaches and the desire to get indecorously drunk—"

"Hey, you said you actually liked the old _Time Machine_ and _The Invisible Man_!"

"Oh, fine, have it your way: yes, the 1960 adaptation of _The Time Machine_ was rather good. But the 2002 version was atrocious." Myka had to agree with that. "And the trick of making Griffin actually invisible was quite ingenious, I'll admit that. But the writers gave him a love interest."

Myka searched for words. "They were trying to make him sympathetic?"

HG let out what could only be described as 'a writer's growl of rage.' "He wasn't meant to be sympathetic! And do not get me started on that ludicrous update of _The War of the Worlds_. I haven't heard such a speech of blind patriotism since Majuba Hill." She folded her legs beneath her and stole a corner of Myka's blanket. "I'm tired of seeing what the future has done to my books. So can we please watch something I'm actually interested in?

"I guess this would be a bad time to mention that Charles rewrote _The Sleeper Awakes_ into _The Shape of Things to Come_ and was actively involved in the production of the movie?"

"Oh, if he hadn't already been dead for seventy years..." HG pointed the remote at Myka's television. "Right. Let's see what the twentieth century did to stuffy old Jules." 

Myka pulled the blanket up a little higher. 

She loved Jules Verne. And really, she loved _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_. But whenever she watched the movie or read the book, she always always _always_ skipped the climactic ending. The one with the giant octopus. Or squid, depending on the version. Didn't matter much to Myka, they all had tentacles. 

"Myka?" HG asked, pausing the movie. "Myka, are—are you all right?"

"...Yeah. Sure." Myka peeked out from under the blanket. "Is it over?" Her eyes darted around and landed on the TV, where the image of Disney's giant squid was frozen in glorious Technicolor. Myka made a strangled noise and flipped the afghan up over her eyes.

"Right, okay..." HG turned off the TV and gently folded back the blanket. "Myka," she prodded gently. "What is it?"

"I don't like squids. Octopi. Jellyfish. Anything with tentacles. I just don't like them, okay?!" 

"All right, all right." HG brushed some errant strands of hair back from Myka's face and tried not to smile too much. "So. Where does that phobia come from?"

Myka frowned and straightened the blanket around her shoulders. "Were you friends with Sigmund Freud, too?"

"Oh hell, no! God, I couldn't stand that man." HG's fingers stroked gently at Myka's hair. "But I knew a few psychologists in my day... one of them rather well." Her free hand went to the locket that always hung around her neck. 

"Christina's father," said Myka softly. 

"He was a good man, and a good friend. I learned a good many things from him." HG let go of her locket and took Myka's hand. "One of which was that knowing what creates a fear is often the first step in overcoming it."

"It's stupid. I was stung by a jellyfish when I was six. Not that impressive. And it's not like being afraid of cephalopods impacts my ability to hold down a job... I mean, unless we have to go track down an artifact at the Boston Aquarium... right." Myka took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Did your friend help you get over any of your fears?"

"He did, yes." HG's lovely smile was back, though this time it didn't reach her eyes. "But unfortunately, ridding myself of those fears just made me more reckless... and made room for other fears to take hold." 

"Like what?"

HG didn't answer. After a minute, Myka got up, popped out the DVD of _Twenty Thousand Leagues_ , and put in a disc of the Metropolitan Opera instead, and she and HG finished out the evening with Mozart and _The Magic Flute_.

Myka had trouble falling asleep that night. The image of that stupid rubber octopus was still burned into her brain, as was the image of HG's fingers as they manipulated the remote control. Long, slender, dexterous fingers... And the varying degrees of her smile, those were pretty unconducive to sleep, too...

The door to Myka's bedroom eased gently open. 

She froze. "Hello?" All her instincts from her Secret Service days kicked in, and in an instant her mind's eye saw where her gun was, where her phone and Farnsworth were, where other potential weapons were, where the escape routes were—

"Myka?" HG's voice whispered from the corridor. "Are you awake?"

As quickly as it had crashed over her, all of Myka's adrenaline receded back like a wave from a shore. "Yeah," she said, a little shaken, "yeah, I'm awake. Couldn't sleep," she added, sitting up and flicking on the bedside lamp. 

HG smiled ruefully. "Neither could I."

If she'd ever wondered what a formerly Victorian lady- _cum_ -Warehouse agent wore when she went to bed, HG's appearance cleared that up for Myka, in the form of very modest gentleman's striped flannel pajamas. They were much too big for the trim inventor and HG looked lost in them, especially with her long dark hair pulled back into a braid and a rather embarrassed expression on her face. 

She sat tiredly on the edge of Myka's bed. "You asked me tonight if I had any fears," she said. "Any crippling phobias. I do. I'm afraid of being tasked with a great burden, and failing in it... as I failed my daughter. And my fellow agents at Warehouse 12. I'm afraid of never finding my place in this strange new world... and sometimes I'm not sure if I want to. And..." 

Almost as though it moved independent of the rest of her, HG's hand crept across the blanket and curled tightly around Myka's fingers. "Ever since I was unbronzed, I've been deathly afraid of being alone at night. I spent over a century in darkness, unable to move or touch anything, and now when I go to sleep... I'm afraid I won't wake up."

Myka's heart, already reluctantly tender towards the inventor, softened even more. She squeezed HG's hand reassuringly. "It's not a dream," she promised, drawing her close, and not even surprised at herself for coaxing her into under the covers. " _I'm_ not a dream."

It had been a long time since Myka had woken up to find someone else in her bed, but even in the groggy half-conscious moments between sleep and waking, she knew the identity of the woman curled up beside her. HG—Helena—was still sound asleep, her oval face peaceful, her breathing even and serene. One long hand lay quietly on the pillow, and Myka covered it with her own. "Morning," she whispered.

Helena's lips curved into a lovely smile. "Good morning," she replied. She stretched luxuriously before opening her eyes. For a moment or two, she and Myka looked at one another. Then she cupped Myka's cheek in her slender hand and pulled Myka close for a kiss.


End file.
